The Collector
by PAEC
Summary: Andy Blair is a homeless child, who survives by picking things up. His hobby is Collecting. But what happens when, one day, he picks up something that no mortal should ever lay hands on?
1. Prologue

The Collector

Prologue: The Collector

The sunshine shown bright over Celadon City, as it usually did on these typical summer days. Nothing was unusual about this day. Shoppers walked the streets left and right, some with numerous heavy shopping bags hanging from their arms, and others on the way to the department store to get bags of their own. Parents sitting around, discussing the day, as their kids participated in merry recess only a few feet away, and of course, Pokemon trainers, viewing it as a fine day to get outside and raise ones Pokemon. Some simply wanted to better their Pokemon, while others held high hopes of finally beating Erika, the local gym leader, so that they could finally move on from Celadon, to the next city.

Such was daily life in this city. People come, people go, and about the only real changes that would occur were the ones brought on by different seasons. A large city, the second largest in Kanto, actually, but even so, it was subject to the same routine, day, after day, after day.

Such, however, was not true for one young boy in particular.

"Andy Blair, I believe that's his name." A middle aged woman said, as she and her friend just happened to catch that one boy in particular, walking past the park that she sat in.

"I've heard that name here and there." Replied the woman opposite of the first. She was slightly younger than the first speaker. "He doesn't look to be all that great." She referred to his clothes, which were rags and barely covered him at all. "His parents let him run around like that?"

"He has no parents." Was the response from the first woman, which caused the second to turn her head back to Andy, as she watched him walk away. The first continued. "He's been around as long as any of us can remember. All he'll say is that his parents are dead, but he still likes living in Celadon."

"So he's homeless?"

"Aye, that he is."

There was a bit of a silence, as the second lady took in what she could about the young homeless child. His hair was dark brown, and cut, poorly, but it was cut, though by what methods were anybodies guess. His skin was tan from all the sun, and the lady guessed that if he did have some sort of shelter over his head, it wasn't much. When Andy was finally out of sight, the silence was broken.

"So what does he do?" The second lady asked. The first just grinned.

"He picks things up." This response brought a curious look from the second woman. "He picks things up." The first repeated. "Everybody calls him 'The Collector'. He walks around town, and picks things up that he finds. Not money or anything, maybe a dollar or two every now and then, but just, odd, Mundayne items."

"So...what exactly does he do with them." This time, the first lady just shrugged.

"That's all we know. But that's how he's earned his nickname."

The conversation began to drift away from little Andy Blair, but somewhere in the city, another was sure to pop up. The young, brown haired, green eyed boy was very popular among Celadonians, being surprisingly humble and selfless for somebody of his age and position in life. Either way, he was never a burden. Kept to himself most of the time, but was never an anti-social by any means.

"Ah, sweet, another bottle cap!" Little Andy ran over, picking up the dirty bottle cap, examining it for a moment. "Ah, somebody bit it off!" He ran his index finger along the indents on the top of the bent cap, feeling where the persons molar had created the leverage, thereby, opening the bottle. "Haven't found one of these in a long time!"

He examined the cap once more, then slid it into a small pouch, one that he had sown together himself out of pieces of leather and cardboard he had found lying around, using fishing line from the lake to hold it all together.

Little Andy Blair would skip around town like this for many hours a day, though to him, the time was based on the position of the sun. Either way, he was up at dawn, and on his way home, wherever that was, at sunset. Home, the one thing Andy was able to keep secret from everyone else. Nobody knew where the little tyke went at night, and nobody, thankfully, felt the need to pursue him.

All that matter was that Little Andy Blair was 'The Collector'.


	2. Ch1  I Pick Things Up

The Collector

Chapter One: I Pick Things Up

"Awww, sweet." Andy Blair said aloud, though to nobody in particular. In his hands, he held the top half of an Ultra-Ball, which had been lingering on the edge of a gutter moments ago, about to fall in. "It's almost like my own Pokeball!" Little Andy held the broken ball high in the air, with a large grin of happiness on his face. This drew smiles from a few passerbys, locals to the city who were more than happy to see the young homeless child in a good mood.

Though in truth, Andy was rarely a depressed person. He slid the ball into his small, self-made pack, though he would have smiled just as brightly had he found nothing more than a small screw, or even if he'd found nothing at all.

Though never asked directly, the common assumption was that the boy had grown up with nothing and nobody, so commodities were not an issue. If there was an item that somebody has recklessly discarded, then Andy would pick it up. Even the most mundane of items meant the world to the boy. In a world full of technologies, luxury, and people taking things for granted, little Andy Blair was content with what little he had.

Such was evident as the boy skipped past the Celadon Gym, whistling no tune in particular, and waving brightly at every trainer, and everyone, he passed.

As the Celadon Gym was just about out of sight, Andy found himself greeted by one of many familiar faces.

"Hello, Andrew!" Came an old, scratchy, yet cheerful voice to Andy's right. The boy looked, a smile on his face, which widened when the source of the voice was confirmed.

"Arthas!" There was laughter in the boys voice as he ran to greet the old man, who walked with a cane to support his hunched over form. Arthas used his free hand to part his gray, curly hair from his eyes, and smiled at Andy, his green eyes showing nothing buy purity through his half moon glasses.

"Andrew, I see you are bright as ever." Arthas spoke, coughing after his sentence was finished, such as he always did. Age mixed with over fifty years of smoking would do that to somebody, or at least that's what he always said.

"Yeah yeah!" Andy nodded his head, smiling, and beginning to reach into his pack, which caused Arthas to tilt his leather beret up, as if attempting to see better.

"Oh, and just what've you got there, young man?" The old card grinned with curiosity. Little Blair must have found something good, he figured.

"This!" The young boy pulled the half Ultra-Ball he had recovered earlier in the day, and held it up on eye level with Arthas.

"Oh, my, wherever did you come across that?" The old man inquired. Arthas came across Andy almost every day, which stemmed from the fact that both spent most of every day of their lives walking around Celadon City, but this was truly one of Andy's better finds, at least in his opinion.

"About twenty minutes away from the gym, in that direction." Andy pointed behind himself, motioning in the direction he had come from. Arthas just smiled, and nodded, signaling that he was finished examining the ball.

"Well, that's certainly a good find, Andrew." Arthas scratched his clean shaved chin, watching as the young boy placed the part of the ball carefully back into his pack, among a few plastic bottles, some toothpicks, half of a brochure, and some other items, unidentifiable because of their position at the bottom of the small pouch. "Now you make sure to take good care of it, who knows, you may be able to have it restored into your own Pokeball someday." The old man just smiled as the information caused Andy's face to glow so radiantly, it could sunburn somebody.

"Really? I could have my own Pokeball?!?" The excitement in his voice caused a few people who happened to be around to either giggle or grin.

"Well sure." Arthas replied enthusiastically, or at least, as enthusiastically as somebody of his age and vocal capacity could. "Why, I m'self used to be able to do just that. Restore and repair Pokeballs and other items of such use. But," He figured he'd better set this one straight before he got the poor boys hopes too high. "that's been years ago, and I lack the necessary tools any more." Andy continued to grin though.

"That's alright. I'm happy half of it's missing." This caused Arthas to arch a brow at the boy, but he figured he knew what was coming. "I can just use my imagination to pretend I have the whole Pokeball." Arthas smiled, nodding. It warmed the old mans heart to hear such words from a young man. 'Maybe if more people could see through his eyes.' He thought. 'This world would take a turn for the better.'

"Well, I'm going to run along now." Andy bowed politely, and Arthas returned the bow the best he could.

"Yes, I best be on my way as well." The old man replied. "I need to keep moving, or I'm just gonna lock up one day." The two laughed at the joke. Indeed, Old Arthas Shizuru was a card, but he was a lot more knowledgeable than he would let on, and had given Andy minor advice more than once.

Of course, he could have guided the boy through life, and always accepted to if he had to. But the boy never needed it. He'd matured enough on his own. Though only eight years old, the boy was more capable than many adults that Arthas had seen come and go.

"You be safe, Andrew."

"You too, Arthas."

The two went their separate ways, though Arthas still looked back a time or two, being somewhat over protective of Little Andy. He was, after all, the only person in Celadon that Andy had ever opened up to. To this day, nobody, not even Arthas, was quite sure why.

And walked on, taking his usual route for the city, finding many more small items, and even a book that was, though waterlogged, still readable. Were all the pages still there? It didn't matter. If they were, Andy would read the book, learning new words, and gaining a better understanding of situations from somebody else's point of view. If they were not, then Little Andy Blair would finish the book with his imagination, multiple times, each time having a new game to play.

This was every day, and this was the young boys life.

"Well, I'm back at the city limits." Andy said aloud, but again, talking to no one, as there was no one else around. The eastern limits of Celadon City was where he started his trek everyday. "Another great day of picking things up!" He jumped up in the air, fist first, mimicking a celebratory jump. "Now to head on home." He first looked around to make sure he was alone, then began to walk off the path, in the direction of nothing in particular.

He walked for about twenty minutes, off the road, taking a path he knew kept him away from most wild pokemon, a path that the boy had paved in his mind long ago. He could walk it forward, backward, even with his eyes closed, if he had to. It was not a route that the boy would forget in his lifetime.

Finally, he came to a clearing in the grass, which lead into a small lake, surrounded by a thicket of trees which were just tall enough to blend in with the scenery from a distance. This wasn't a place anybody was going to find unless Andy told them where it was.

As the sun set, the young boy skipped down to the edge of the lake, where a surprisingly well kept refrigerator box sat, just close enough to the lake to allow Andy a pleasant view of the morning lake when he woke up, yet just far enough away to keep the box from getting washed away should the water ever rise.

He stepped inside the shade of the box, the place that Andy Blair called home, and emptied his pouch on an X, which he had created with Black Tape that he had found, on the floor.

Over the next hour, Andy sorted everything he had found that day. Starting with composition, he would eventually end up with the tiniest details, such as number of scratches on an object, or smoothness of a particular part of an item. At the end of the day, everything was in it's own little pile, which stood among a great many amount of piles, each item within each pile sorted and placed perfectly, and each pile sorted, every item within linked by one very fine, specific trait. Andy knew where everything was, and if he wanted to use something, for whatever reason, it took him no more than three seconds to get the object he wanted.

If Andy tried to explain his sorting techniques, or how each item was common with one another in a pile, he could go on for days, one would still be in the dark. This was truly the world of Andy Blair, the world of only Andy Blair. This was his life.

This was the life of The Collector.

A soft yawn escaped the boys lips as he placed the last item in his pouch, the broken Ultra-Ball, in a pile all it's own. "My favorite find." Andy monologued. It was placed on top of a flat part of a brick, and placed in the center of all the other piles, which indicated that, for now at least, that Ultra-Ball was Andy's pride and joy. As he admired it, another yawn found it's way out of his mouth. "Time for bed, I guess." The little boy rubbed his right eye, yawning again. He was always tired at the end of the day, as was expected, from somebody his size walking for fourteen or so hours a day. To some, it was a wonder he could do it at all, though most had figured he was used to it by now. They were right.

Andy crawled to the other side of his box, packing together a rather large pack of cotton, most of which he had found when they demolished the old tailoring shop to make room for the Celadon Department Store. This was Andy's pillow.

One last yawn escaped the young boys lips, before he laid down, curling up into a little ball for warmth, and a feeling of support. This was his space. He was safe here.

A few minutes later, the soft snores of Little Andy Blair could be heard within the box, and nowhere else. He didn't have a problem falling asleep. There was a true feeling of security within the place. It was his home, and he was always safe here.

But an unusually cold wind blew through air, on this warm summer night.


End file.
